million people come to visit this library every year. and bring people who are devoted to silence and bring life in a different way. it's my great pleasure, obviously, to welcome joel merowitz tonight and he will be speaking to you shortly.

a great french historian once said that the historians will bring the silences alive, to the silences speak. and joe has did you know this through images. as you know he had a very difficult time photographing ground zero. we would not have these images today. he will talk i'm sure about how this experience changed his life. it's one said man is a useless passion, obviously, this project count as that definition. you will see to what extent this work is a work of devotion and courage much like the men who

worked on the site. the mayor would very many like to be here tonight but couldn't. and would like me to read this letter to you. five years have passed since september 11, 2001, yet, for those of us who lived through that terrible day, the recollection of it participates to be vivid and the sorrow that we feel for the loved ones, neighbors and friends we lost remains etched in our hearts. this is a day of remembrance, reflection and renewal. once again, we draw together just as we did on 9/11 and in the days and weeks that followed. once again, our memories unite us, memories not only of grief and anger but also of

extraordinary valor and compassion. and once again, we pay tribute to those who live -- whose lives were taken in a singularly vicious and criminal act and we extend our comfort to all those who still mourn their loss. today, is a time for prayer and requiem. and we commit ourselves to the remarkable unwavering spirit that carried us through the worst day through our city's history and that has driven our remarkable recovery in the five years since. by continuing to show that spirit, by continuing to embrace our freedoms, live with courage and make this an even better city for all of our children, we will truly honor the memory of all those we lost, sincerely michael bloomberg.

i have a few thanks -- warm thanks to diane idman, to doing a the monuments today. 2001, they worked with joel and the state department and created 35 exhibitions of the which traveled throughout the world as a state department said to our friends and enemies alike and was seen by 4 million people. and the for the installation of the photographs and to the julliard and the president of the julliard, dr. robert polisi for graciously giving us the julliard chamber orchestra for this evening. to phaeden the publisher of this publisher book and liz thompson and to the studio director for joel marowit to my assistants

who tried to live my life on time. and to joel merowitz who brought this project to my attention. it is an honor to have him here tonight. [applause] >> thank you, paul. and thank you for live at the new york public library for opening this magnificent room to us. when i was sitting in the room next door waiting to answer, i could hear the hum of your voices. there was good-hearted warmth in

it. a kind of community sense. and it made me think about five years ago tonight and the silence that filled our homes. no laughter, little conversation, a great deal of fear. something has returned. life feels good to us again. this room which is as paul said devoted to silence and meditation and thought and history and remembrance suddenly was filled with all of the good energy that the community brings together. that was very heart-warming to both of us in there. five years ago, we were all changed. a great sadness fell over us, a day just like today. when i awakened this morning and

i saw that sky, i remembered what it was like to be in 2001. i wasn't in new york at that time. i was on cape cod. and i heard about the tragedy. i tried to come back to new york and i couldn't come back to new york. they had closed the city. my wife, maggie, and i stayed in providencetown waiting for the time to return. and that time was probably similar to what all of you were feeling. we experienced a kind of helplessness. there was little that we could do. making out a check, it didn't seem like enough. i felt the frustration. when we come back to new york, five days later, i went down to

ground zero. i wanted to see for myself, what was it like? and that small act of curiosity changed my life. i stood in a crowd of people on the corner of chambers and greenwich street. nothing to see. there was a cyclone fence covered with a scrim of canvas, smoke rising in the distance. i took my lycra and put it to my eye and a woman police officer said no photographs, buddy. this is a crime scene. one never knows when the road of

your life will divide. when she said that to me, i had a sudden current of energy come up thinking this is impossible. the crime scene was in there and i was on the public thoroughly -- thoroughfare and i thought why can do it. if you don't do that, i'm going to take that camera away. no fundraiser allowed. something happened. the thought appeared to me. i know how i could be helpful. i could find my way inside ground zero and make an archive of the efforts of all those men and women who had immediately run to ground zero to help construction workers, firemen, policemen, iron workers. anyone who could do something,

went there out of a kind of generosity of spirit that seemed just waiting to be tapped. and i thought i could make a small contribution. i would like to share with you tonight some of the photographs that are in this book, "aftermath: the world trade center archive" and tell you some of the stories about some of the people and the events that were in there. but two things before i do that. one, i would personally like to thank richard schrockman who is the publisher of phaenden books. you probably know all these books. they're the most wonderfully produced art books in the world. five years ago in -- richard flew to new york to see me. he had seen a few photographs. and he came and he said, some

day, this book -- these pictures should be in an archive and i want to push those pictures when the time is right. don't rush, he said. feel it out. let yourself understand what it is you're doing. and one day we'll make a book. so here it is. 8.5 pounds, 9 months in the making and 5 years to deliver. thank you, richard. before we begin, could we observe a few seconds of silence for all those who are no longer here. [moment of silence]

>> thank you. in the summer of 2001, two things happened to me. i was married to my wife, maggie, in tuscany, a joyous beginning of the summer. and then i prepared for an exhibition at my daughter aerial's gallery in chelsea and the exhibition was called "looking south: new york city landscapes." pictures i had made over a 15-year period from a studio i had in chelsea. and although the world trade center played the role of the exclamation mark in all of those pictures, they were really about

big sky country in new york, about the seasons passing, about the fact that we are an island sitting on the edge of an ocean. there was systems that i was observing as if for the first time. during that summer, i was surrounded by these large scale photographs in the small studio i use in providencetown. perhaps that was what gave me some kind of inner momentum to address the issues in ground zero, the fact that i had lived with those buildings in an intimate way for so many months. on september 7th, i made this photograph. i was in new york to work with a laboratory to make some prints and i went back to my old

studio, just to see what things looked like and i remember about dusk i made this picture thinking it's a relatively plain day, not much going on. i'll come back next week. they will always be here. the kind of familiar way, take things for granted. of course, they no longer are. after that police officer awakened me, i tried to figure out how to get into ground zero. it was impossible. i called the director of the museum of the city of new york and said i would like to make an archive for you. can you write me a letter? can you help me get in? he did. he graciously wrote the letter. i waived it in front of the first officer i saw the next day

and he basically said, what kind of scam is this? this letter isn't going to get you in. anybody could forge this letter. so i went back and i searched through my few friends and contacts on the edge of the bureaucracy and i called him up and i said, do you think you could do -- who do you know in the government who could help e me. he was a commissioner in the borough of manhattan and he said to me, i'm with the government. what can you do. i'm going to give you a workers pass so with that pass and the letter and a certain degree of chutzpah, i entered the site on september 23rd, 12 days after the fall. and it was, i think, an

unspeakable, unimaginable experience initially. i was driven in, in a small 3-wheel vehicle by a parks department ranger who abandoned me as soon as i could knowing i would be getting in trouble any moment and he didn't want to be around to be part of it. i stood there bare-headed and i could use all the help that i could get and i thought to myself, this is a dangerous place, and what am i doing here? hanging on a piece of scaffolding 15 feet away was a hard hat which i managed to liberate and put on and noticed that it said on the front, nypd and i thought, this is a great start. things are up already. that and a mask and some gloves and -- as i thought to myself,

all i need is a tattoo and some muscle and i'll fit in here. nonetheless, standing in front of the normality of the collapsed 110-story north tower was to witness the sheer horrific power of the fall. there was no concrete to speak of. it was steel and rebar and aluminum and wiring and cables and plumbing and everything hard and sharp and dangerous. and one felt one's own fleshy vulnerability in the face of such a catastrophe. i had written to mayor rudy giuliani a week before and composed a four-page proposal in what i wanted to do in ground

zero and i based it on the foreign security photographs of the depression. i enumerated all of the assets that were down there, building facades, lampposts, trees and parks, subway instances, news kiosks. i wanted to make a description of everything in and around ground zero as well as the lives of the workers who came to do the task of cleaning up and making the recovery. this is the front of the winter garden where a bridge leaped out of that hole and crossed the highway onto the mezzanine of the plaza. to stand in front of this building, once a glittering marble atrium and now a haggy room glazed by sunlight was

incredibly moving. and i was back there just this morning and was amazed to see and hear the sounds of children, the children of battery park city, playing in this atrum again. an atrium with people when men in business suits and kids in diapers, a real community again. this is the american express building in the world financial center and in it stuck up 20 stories above-ground is a three-story piece of the world trade center. those buildings were built in three-story modules so they could be erected by cranes that climbed up the side. kangaroo cranes they were called. and this stick as the iron workers call the steel -- this stick was snapped out one of the towers as it was collapsed and

it was hurled like a javelin into the side of the building and then it ratcheted its way down, down, down to stop in the corner offices. i'm taking you a little tour around the sites so that you could see some of the buildings that played a role. this was october 7th. and i have to share with you two events that gave shape to my existence down there. i was photographing north of where i'm standing here, and two officers came over to me and threw me out. this happened to me two or three times a day every day because everybody followed the edict of the mayor and the police

commissioner, no photographry around. and i was using an old wooden camera to make my images because i wanted a certain authenticity. that didn't stop them anyway. out, no photographs. i said, come on, guys. i'm making a historical collection for the museum of the city of new york. it doesn't matter. chief felini wants you out of here now. let me talk to the chief and i'll explain to him. he doesn't want to talk to you. he wants you gone, now! i said i have to go this way. so they let me and they admonished me no more photographs. i came to this point and i stood there witnessing this extraordinary red white and blue day and i set up my camera and i got under the dark cloth and no sooner did i ready myself that i heard the crutch of tires on the gravel next to me and a voice say, what are you doing?

i came out and i was greeted by a fireman and i said i'm photographing here. he said, no photographs. i said, wait a second. i was just over with chief felini. he said oh, no problem. whatever. whatever you want. [laughter] >> a little bit of wisdom. and at that moment i realized from now on every day when i come in here, i'm going to find out who the chief is on duty and where his trailer is so i can give him that pointing. chief esposito said it's okay. name-dropping was never a better modus operandi. however, when i stopped here, i had a second experience. it was chilly in the shadows and warm in the sunlight. and i had that feeling of -- what a beautiful day, it's so good to be alive and then i remembered where i was.

and i had that moment of hesitation, dare i make this picture. is it right for me to feel this way? you know, that is tragedy. this feels so beautiful, the day so gorgeous, and then i thought, i must make this picture because time and nature indifferent to our activities on earth are the impulses, or the surround that will ultimately help us get some perspective on this. and that, in fact, we need beauty. beauty gives us hope. and perhaps that's why some of these pictures have the fragrance of beauty in them. some need of my own, faced with the painful realities of every day in ground zero made me open up to that possibility.

these are the men of the arson and explosion squad, detectives who i met in ground zero. they and they alone are responsible for this book that i hold in my hands today. when i met them that first night, and they showed me curiosity and friendship before they decided to throw me out, and they asked what i was doing with that old wooden camera. and i explained to them that i was making this historical document. and i remembered clearly someone

saying to me, oh, yes, we need this for our kids and our grandchildren. we have to have this. and i said in all innocence, ah, i wish every cop was like you guys because i'm thrown out every single day. and they said to me, ah, we're going to take care of you. here's our cell phone numbers. anytime someone stops you, you just call us and we're going to come and get you. now, many of these men are in the room tonight, and i would be honored if you would please stand and let us see who you are. [applause]

>> and perhaps this is a moment to share that response with the others who are in this room. there are port authority policemen and firemen and chaplains and iron workers and construction workers and family members all of whom have sacrificed and worked hard and lost family members and friends and if you would be willing to stand in the room so that we could recognize your sacrifices, too, i would be honored. please. [applause] >> i thank you for your

generosity. so many of these people worked for months on end without being recognized and part of what i thought i was doing by making these photographs was to bring to all of us the things that we couldn't see inside that forbidden city. to share with us the visceral connection so that we would understand better what it was like for them. and i should say before i take this picture off the screen that the first gift gift they gave me besides the gift of friendship was to take me and my equipment up to the top of the lower stories of the world financial center and bring me to the edge where i made the photograph that graces the cover of this book and that is spread out behind the orchestra here behind us.

it was a great start, my friends. the iron workers -- many of them, men who put the buildings up 35 years ago, never thinking they would be here to take them apart, came back in huge numbers, and they did that heavy dirty work of burning down the standing steel, disconnecting everything, wrenching it up and hauling it away. and they worked with incredible safety. there were no deaths from working on the site during the nine months. this is a moment that i think of five more found.

one night around 10:30 or so i saw a stream of firemen running through the rubble of the south tower, up over the hills of steel and down into a little gully. they had made a recovery. and i followed them and went into this little place. and when i came over crest, this is what i saw. as i worked my way down, closer to that center spot, which was a void in all of the debris, a stairwell -- when i arrived there, i heard someone come out of the stairwell and say, the men are intact and it says on the stairwell that this stairway is from the north tower. and there was a palpable hush that pushed outward into this

gang of men as i imagined they were all feeling that flight themselves and their comrades' last moments. every day in the first three or four months while the fires were raging down below, anytime a piece of steel was pulled out of the pile, oxygen would race in and explode and usually huge clouds of ash and debris would rise up. and it happened here a few minutes before and as that cloud rose it sailed past the building after sunlight was glinting off a sharp edge and came from the

clouds from this light. somewhat like a 19th century romantic painting, so i've been told. we're having a little bit of a technical problem here. ah! there's no question now about a staircase that is being thought of as a monument, the survivor's staircase down which people fled from the mezzanine of the plaza down to the streets below. and while that staircase was intact with its escalators, i went up it one day and climbed through a broken window into a preschool program space. and wandered around among the

tumbled cribs and the racks of kids' jackets and their lunch box and came upon this scene of an ambulance and a police car on the street in the dust of the floor of the play school and thought how it mimicked what happened outside. there was one sunday, i think, in november when the city opened church street for a memorial service, 7,000 family members came and it was not a political event. there were no speeches. there were prayers and there were song and music and it was a solemn outpouring of feeling. and afterwards, as people left,

they passed by the barriers that had cordoned off the street and behind the barriers were numerous firemen and people started handing over photographs and flowers and stuffed animals and asking the firemen to put them somewhere. and outfit the rubble this little monument, a temporary monument arose. and it was exquisite for me to watch the firemen, each and every one of them come to the barrier and take a photograph and hold it in their hands and look at it, carefully, caringly, deeply, connecting to it. and then to the person who brought it and then carrying it at a dirge speed back to this pile and putting it to rest

there. last year i had an exhibition. i don't think we can see here -- no, just below where the firemen is placing his flowers is a tiny picture. and last year, i had an exhibition and a woman called me up and said, mr. meyerowitz go to that exhibition and look behind this photograph and you will see something so i went back to the exhibition and i looked behind the photograph and this card fell out that i'm holding here. and this card is the card that that firemen had just placed on the pile. and it is the portrait of a young woman and her child, and she perished on flight 93. i keep this close.

amid the great scale of the debris at the pile we tend to forget the small things. parking meters that were bent over by the wind and whose glass face literally melted from the heat that roared up the street. trees that were down through a huge piece of steel through a huge dust cloud. i felt this was a reminder that these humble things were also destroyed. one night, one evening actually just around dusk, i was standing with my friends from the arson and explosion squad. you can see our shadows.

and we were just looking over the pile. and it suddenly went quiet. the shift must have changed. and the sun had just gone out of the sky and it went from pink to purple to blue. and then the most amazing thing happened. ♪ ♪

>> that sound filled the grand amphitheater of ground zero, a broadway musician had convinced a cop on the perimeter to let him come in to play taps to the dead. within moments of that sound, this worker came walking up the hill and i noticed the tears in his eyes and i stepped in front of him and i asked him to make his portrait. and as we talked, he said this morning i was in the customs building and i was burning the steel, and my torch ignited some

buried ammunition and it exploded. he said i have -- i have some shrapnel in my face. i've got five stitches underneath this bandage, but he went right back to work. this is lieutenant john ryan of the port authority police. he pretty much ran the site from the port authority point of view during the months i was down there and he was a great friend and helped me. one afternoon, when i was down several levels in the pit, a grappler machine reached into the rubble and pulled out some stuff and suddenly fluttering to the ground were hundreds of photographs. it was the port authority

archive, bridges, tunnels, roadways, events, all of it fluttering. i asked the guy to wait a second and i ran up the hill and went looking for lieutenant ryan and i found him and he and his men went down and effectively saved the archive. three or four hours later, i bump into john on the site again. he said hey, look at this and he showed me his graduation photographs from the police academy. he had found them in the pile. the needle in the haystack. this is a woman named pia hoffman who deserves our special attention.

she is the only woman operating engineer, which means she can drive any big machine, a grabler or a crane. she's licensed to do so. during the recovery process when remains were found, if they were remains from the uniformed services, they were generally treated in a military fashion and covered with a flag and carried out on a stokes basket, a small stretcher. civilians were treated differently. their remains were placed in red body bags. and so on the site when remains were uncovered, people would say, flag or bag, to know what to do.

i should say with the uniformed services there was often an honor guard to bring the recovery out. one day, pia was operating a grappler and she uncovered the body of a woman. and she called one of the recovery people to come and help her and he called out for a bag. and she said, no. this is a woman. we want an honor guard and a flag. and there was a little bit of indecision, i guess, and pia put the claw of her machine down very gently and covered the remains and said, she's not moving until you bring an honor guard and a flag. and that one gesture of consciousness and recognition and compassion changed the way

things operated on the site. so i think she deserves our special commendation for being so open hearted. thank you, pia. mra[applause] >> on the other hand, there was eddie. newly released from confinement or just out of jail. and eddie had a voice that was in this range, you see? a lifetime of screaming, i'm sure. but he was a good-humored funny day and i made the portrait of him and the portrait ran in the "new yorker" magazine. and eddie bought up all the copies of the new yorker he could find. and when next i saw him in the site he said to me, oh, joe, i'm

a made man now. even my mother loves me now. [laughter] >> listen, anything i can do for you, i will. he says, you know, i do slice and dice. [laughter] >> he said if you ever want to, you know, a little lime and a little rose i'll take care of anything. i'll take care of you joey boy. i'm happy to say i haven't had a chance to take him up on this, but don't get on my wrong side. [laughter] >> this is a photograph of a man named charlie vitters who was the bogus superintendent who consolidated the site from the four different construction companies that were running it all under his aegis. and we are in a double wide trailer here and these are the

representatives of the various trades that were running the sites. security and water and electrical and iron workers and -- everyone concerned far more than i can name. and charlie welcomed me into that world, and certainly educated me to the way the process was. and i've enjoyed his company. i hope he's here tonight. throughout the nine months, the one consistent act one could see everywhere on the site, the most

emblematic image were men and women raking either on their hands and knees with a small hand tool, sifting it through screens or standing up and raking the debris fields that were prepared for them. and they did this from when it was a pile till when it came down, down 72 feet below street level to bedrock in manhattan. and you see here two firemen who i became friendly with. paul on the right, retired, and his son ralph. and they spent their months finding the remains of many others but searching for the missing member gary. paul is here tonight with his wife, barbara. i want to say that their

consistency, their strength, their morality was incredibly powerful to be around. we are near the end. the site was to close in a day or so. dusk is falling. and there is a man on his hands and knees looking at one square foot of rubble, sifting through it, asking the question, bone or stone? weighing each pebble in his hand to see if it was something that might still have vital dna that might bring some kind of recognition and consolation to a

family member and this seemed to me to be the act that i saw every day, an act of devotion on their hands and knees, almost no different than prayer. at the end of may they closed the site and the workers had recommended that they retain one core column of the south tower as a model, as a metaphor for the last body out. and that night, they cut it down. one of the men who cut it down is here, willy quinnlin who actually stood on top of that column one afternoon when i was one of those man baskets and i photographed him and he invited me to stand on that column, terrifying to me.

to him it was -- this is turf. he's comfortable on a 3-foot of steel 60 feet above-ground as being in his living room. anyway, when they cut it down, hundreds and hundreds of workers returned to sign the column. and this column will ultimately be displayed at the memorial museum in ground zero. the next morning, that column dressed in black nylon, covered with an american flag was the last piece out. pipers piped it out. they closed the site the next day.

one month later, on june 21st, i went back to ground zero, the longest day of the year, a summer's day, i just needed to go and spend the day there. and i would like to read to you, since i wrote this book as well as made the photographs -- i think i should behave like an author for a moment and just read what happened to me on that day. it seemed fitting to go back on the site on the longest day of the year, a day not unlike 9/11 except that the promise of summer was in the air. the familiar territory within the bathtub walls was unnaturally quiet as i descended. now empty of the nearly 4

million pounds of debris that had so recently fallen there. it was a slow meditative walk filled with images that randomly flashed across my mind. i felt as if an enormous transparent library soared above me through which i could see distributed throughout its layered levels the 8,000-plus images that i had made. first, as i walked on my early rounds over the hills of rubble and later spiraling down and around the site throughout the successive months of its removal. i crossed over the path train tracks, near where the last column had stood. as i stopped for a moment, to look at a weathered scrap of newspaper, yellowed and decaying at my feet, my eye caught a

touch of unexpected color. there in the shadow of a railroad tie some tender sheaths of grass were making their way up through the rubble. for 35 years this patch of dirt must have lain there in the dark, beneath the rolling wheels and pounding of the trains. and now with a little sun, some rain and the cycle of day and night and season back to life it came. if the earth has such resilience, then we who stand on the grass in the sunlight are truly blessed.

♪ >> to see the online photo gallery and to learn more about the book visit ww www.phaidon.com/aftermath. >> well, there's a new self-published book out on the market. it's written by richard toliver, and we are joined now by richard toliver. mr. toliver, who is that on the cover of this book? >> well, that's a young richard toliver. it's an air force fighter pilot of a few years ago. and that was taken during the time that i was very fortunate to be involved in testing the f-15 aircraft. >> when was that? >> 1974 to 1976 to be exact. >> why did you write a book? >> well, after i'd gone through life -- retired from the air

force, looks back over some 50 years, i realized that i had some very unique experiences in my life and i met some very unique people. and all of them -- the experiences and the people made a significant difference as to who i was at that time. and so i decided with the encouragement of my family to write this story of those people who i called uncaged eagles, the people that were providencetially placed in my life all the way along the way. i must submit i didn't know who they were and i didn't know that was actually taking place at the time. but when you get to about 65 years old and you have the opportunity to look backwards, then you begin to see these things and so i saw that there were a number of people that needed to be spoken of who made a difference in my life, to cause me to be who i am today. and i wanted to tell that story in the first person. >> who is one of those people?

>> probably the first person was a little lady who owned a one-room store, and she gave me my first job and paid me $3 a week. on the other spectrum was a man by the name of ross perot, and he gave me an opportunity to work with him, and he paid me a few more dollars a week at that point. but in between there was people like jackie robinson, dr. martin luther king, there were tuskegee airmen that i became a part of as second generation corporal and launched out into the air force. there were many people along the way and during the struggles in my life, there were always -- there was always somebody there. and so i identify these people along the way. and later the uncaged eagles were indeed my late mother and older brother, an older brother. a neighbor who gave me work and encouraged me and there were other people like -- many people

in the air force that were officers, enlisted people and so on. >> where did you come up with the term "uncaged eagle"? >> very interesting. when i was about 13 years old, i heard a sermon from the reverend c.l. franklin who was a father of aretha franklin. and he told a story about an eagle that had been unwittingly trapped in a cage with chickens. i was about 13 when i heard that sermon. and in a way it was me that he was speaking to because i was an eagle inside but i was trapped by my circumstances, and i wanted to get free. and so i took it then that metabecame dick toliver trapped by circumstances. and the chickens are the people who didn't know that there was an eagle inside of me or a burning desire to fly airplanes and so i took that as my way of

going forward and how i was going to get free one day to, in fact, fly airplanes. >> mr. toliver, where did you grow up and what did your parents do? >> at that time growing up i was in near shreveport, louisiana, to be very candid, my father and my mother's marriage had failed and six children were left alone in the deep south in the '40s and the '50s. my mother died young trying to raise those six children. and so it was not people of means or parents of great stature, but from that experience and from those who were brought along into my life made it possible for me to go forward. >> now, you self-published this book. why and what was that experience like you? >> after the air force, i spent some 20 years being a developer of small business and entrepreneurship and so on. and when i wrote the book and

realized that it was going to take an enormous effort to get it published, so i set about using my business skills or experience at the time and said i think i can do this if i figure out what it is that we need to do. and so i did. and i was able to establish a publishing team and then put together the book following the examples of the great publishers out there. i wanted to be able to put a book out there that would indeed look like a great publisher has done it. and make sure that the story was there, the possible -- and the processes was there and i was able to do that. >> forward by ross perot. >> yes. ross perot is a great american. [inaudible] >> and so when i got ready to

write the book, actually, i made a visit with ross and said i want talk about ross perot in the book later and i want talk about him as i know him, not as the people know him or as the media knows him and i want to tell it as the ross perot up close and personal. he gave me permission to do that and i told at least a few stories in the book about ross and his great work and his great contributions to the country. because of that, when i wrote the book, i had another visit with ross and said, do you want take a look at this and give consideration to endorsing it, and he did, thus, the forward. >> richard toliver "an uncaged eagle." if people are interested in getting this book, where can they go? >> well, i have a website now

that's only available to people to get a book. it's www.anuncagedeagle.com just as it says. that's the way they can get the book right now or they can contact my publishing company at -- the phone number 623-340-5768 or, peter, they might contact you and then you in turn get the word to me and i'll see that they get a book. >> author richard toliver, this is booktv on c-span2. ♪ >> coming up next booktv presents "after words" an hour-long program where we invite guest hosts to interview authors. this week dana priest and her book "top secret america: the rise of the new america s